


Sheriarty September- Reloaded

by Tigresse



Series: Sheriarty All The Way [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Consultants in love, Falling In Love, Fluff, Humor, Love, Moriarty in Love, Romance, Sex, Sherlock in Love, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-07-12 08:51:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 16,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15991826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: After Sheriarty September last year, back with a new set of drabbles and ficlets on Jimmy and Sherly. Will continue the last few stories of this series in October (yeah I started late this year, hence shall finish the series late) and stories are mostly standalone and not connected.





	1. The Boy in the Mirror

Sherlock sat grumpily in the car, solving the Rubik’s Cube puzzle and messing it up again, then re-solving it. Ennui, ennui, ennui, boredom, languor, tediousness, weariness, different words for the same feeling he had when his mind was less than occupied. Holidays were a curse for him, especially family holidays when he had to accompany his family and actually have conversations and be present for all meals.

 

But mummy always prevailed and if his twenty-eight year old brother, the assistant chief of MI5, had been emotionally arm-twisted to come along for this vacation, what was a twenty-one year old Sherlock who was barely out of college.

 

To make matters worse, their rented car had broken down and while their dad tried to fix it, Mycroft moaned and groaned about legwork when he was asked to hurry along to the next hamlet to get help. Mummy tried to get Sherlock to move but the younger son refused, pretending to be too absorbed in listening to Justin Timberlake on his discman. He simply pushed the buds of his earphones deeper into the ear canal to shut out all the noise and just focus on his inner misery. Nobody was like him, no one as smart or as stimulating as the one he desired, a perfect alter ego of him, someone who’d understand him instead of revering him or hating on him for being brilliant.

 

Suddenly his eyes fell on the rear view mirror in the front of their car. Sherlock blinked.

 

A slender young man of medium height, about his age, was riding up the path on his bicycle. He looked just like any attractive young Irish lad in the outskirts of Dublin, dark haired and ark eyed, smooth milky skin that needed more sun exposure, cheeks hued red from the sting of the cold wind, slender and rather smart. Well, the Irish could be extraordinarily smart if they wanted to be.

 

But that was not why Sherlock was mesmerized. It was the other man’s eyes. Those deep, dark, bottomless eyes. Sharp as a shark’s tooth, dark as the night skies, yet amber in the daylight, the wisps of his flyaway hairs catching a glint of the sunlight and shining a deep burgundy.

 

Then there was the mouth. Full, kissable, shapely, yet determined and tough in a way his jaw was set on the slim but round face. Here was a man who would do whatever he wished to do. To hell with consequences.

 

Sherlock saw him slow down and stare, since he must have noticed Sherlock’s reflection too in that rear-view mirror. He was looking at Sherlock, just as Sherlock was staring at him.

 

In his sub-conscious mind something kept whispering to Sherlock, maybe his inner voice or just a few words of warning, but it sounded something like the faded letters printed on the glass.

 

‘Objects in the rear view mirror are closer than they appear’.

 

“Sherlock? Lockie?”

 

“What? What?”

 

Sherlock’s annoyed retort made his mother roll her eyes and looked at him admonishingly. He sobered up quickly and looked at her with full attention, reluctantly taking his eyes away from the young man he had just spotted. His mummy was a very formidable woman and nobody, least of all the three men in her life, her husband and two sons, dared mess with her. “The car has started again,” she said, pointing at Mycroft and Reginald Holmes who were now hurrying to get inside, “Your dad is good with machines. It looks like it might rain soon. Roll up the windows, that’s what I was trying to tell you.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Where were you lost?”

 

“Um…..”

 

Sherlock looked in the mirror, then he turned his head and looked, then he cast half his body out of the car window and peered all over the place. There was no spot where one could hide. It was all endless fields and narrow roads. Where had he gone?

 

There was no sign of the deliciously attractive Irishman.

 

“Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear?” Sherlock murmured as he rolled up the windows and sat tight, just as the rain came down, “Maybe objects do, but not the people.”

 

He closed his eyes and etched every memory of that mysterious young man into his mind palace, giving him a very special and big room there. At least from there he wouldn’t/couldn’t escape. He’d go back and visit him again, whenever he wanted.

 

The Rubik’s Cube dropped from his hands. Sherlock was not bored anymore.


	2. In the arms of an angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up together has its own share of fun (beware of cotton candy fluff)

Jim luxuriated at the thought of mornings when he could sleep in.

 

It was a rare treat. Way too rare.

 

He had a web to control, new recruits to observe, snipers to dispatch to stakeouts, smaller criminals to protect (at an astronomical fee of course), bank heists to plan, political assassinations to mastermind and art thefts to organize. Sometimes he even disrupted huge sporting or cultural events or blew up things, just to alleviate boredom. But that also meant being incredibly busy and working all sorts of hours in the day. He usually woke up already late for a meeting or a conference call and sleeping in was the last thing on his mind.

 

Still, in his newfound dual life where he was a criminal mastermind most of the time but occasionally just a boyfriend, he did get this opportunity once or twice a month.

 

Like this morning when he woke up and realized he had slept ten straight hours. It was mid-morning and there was nothing to do, nowhere to be, no routine to follow and no timelines to honor. He could just lie there and…..  


“Mmmm, what about a blowjob?”

 

The deep baritone, now deeper and huskier, right next to his right ear. He was lying on his side, the small spoon. Behind him, plastered to his back and his nose buried in Jim’s hairs was Sherlock Holmes, his boyfriend. Jim had no idea how Sherlock slept so soundly in that position, with a face-full of hair. On those couple of occasions when he had tried the same position and spooned Sherlock, he had nearly sneezed his lungs out.

 

“Blowjob?”

 

“Sherly, we did the 69 before falling asleep last night.”

 

“So let’s do the 69 again, now that we have woken up together.”

 

“You really wanna move?”

 

“Actually no.”

 

“Then what about the blowjob.”

 

“Later maybe. But I am holding you to that promise.”

 

“I didn’t promise,” Jim sneered, pushing his butt into Sherlock’s stomach and grinning with satisfaction when one of those large hands slipped down and cupped one of the cheeks.

 

“It’s a day off for both of us,” Sherlock said softly, now a bit more awake, “Nowhere to be, right?”

 

“Nope, nowhere to be.”

 

Sherlock hummed in contented happiness, nuzzling Jim’s hairs with his nose while that hand of his slid into the cleft between the criminal’s butt cheeks, testing the tiny opening there. It was still slippery with a bit of Sherlock’s seed and a little loose from all that stretching and pounding. Sherlock hissed when his finger slipped inside, matched by Jim’s soft needy moan. “It’s great waking up together,” the great detective said, “Late in the day, and then remembering there’s no reason to move or get out of this bed.”

 

“Better than waking up alone,” Jim tried not to sound too romantic, or too needy, or too nice. He was the devil incarnate after all. He couldn’t soften up.

 

“Just that?”

 

“Maybe more.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“It’s great waking up together but even better to wake up in the arms of an angel.”

 

Sherlock snickered, “Me? An angel?”

 

Jim sang in his lilting Irish accent, causing Sherlock to feel warm and fuzzy and loved up. He closed his eyes and listened, small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

 

_The angel who surrendered his wings_

_For the devil that smiles and sings_

_Afar the bell of destiny rings_

_It’s a miracle, it’s a fairytale_

_A tale of princes and kings_


	3. A day to remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is good with dates and days

Jim was busy unpacking their bags when Sherlock burst into their log cabin, loaded with grocery bags in both arms and a big grin on his face. The grin broadened when he saw Jim in his teeny tiny briefs in a medium shade of grey.

 

“When did you wake up?” He asked, heading straight for the kitchen table to put the bags down.

 

“Ten minutes ago, didn’t really like waking up alone though,” Jim said grumpily as he put away their clothes in the shallow closet, hung up their jackets and coats immaculately on the pegs on the bedroom wall and set their boots in a neat line next to the door. He had a bit of an OCD with cleanliness and being organized and Sherlock didn’t try to stop him or tease him about that, considering the fact that living with someone as disorganized as Sherlock was already a huge step of compromise taken by the criminal mastermind. Why push his luck? An angry Jim was a scary proposition even now, 10 years into their relationship. He kissed the back of Jim's head and decided to say sorry anyways.

 

“I know you don’t like waking up alone,” Sherlock draped Jim in a  bathrobe, “But you’d have liked it even less if you had to be alone here for an hour while I went grocery shopping.”

 

“Huh, what an excellent comeback,” Jim sashayed across the room and stood in the kitchen, looking at the clumsy manner in which his boyfriend was putting away the things, “Sherlock, what are you trying to do?”

 

“Why don’t you show me how to do it?” Sherlock said with a great flourish of his hands.

 

Jim smiled knowingly and began to do just that. Half way through he asked, “These are way too much for us, for just three days. Hey…..Do you remember what day it is?”

 

“Of course,” Sherlock munched on a carrot, “Monday, the 13th of March.”

 

“Not that, silly. Do you remember why this date is significant?”

 

“Hmmm let me see, we met on September 10th so this isn’t the day we met. We committed to each other on the 1st of December so it’s not our ‘anniversary’ either. It’s neither your birthday nor mine. It’s not a day when I proposed and you accepted, nor the day you first fucked me. Okay Jim, it’s beyond my deductive reasoning, my mind palace and my logical memory threads. Why is this date significant except for the fact that today is the first time you and I have come for a fishing trip together?”

 

“You silly little showoff,” Jim snorted, “Today is the day you took me home to……”

 

Sherlock’s phone went off at his hip, causing the detective to quickly exit the kitchen and quickly answer the call. ‘Mycroft’ he mouthed before disappearing.

 

“……the day you took me home to meet your parents,” Jim whispered out the last words.

 

He wasn’t a hugely sentimental man but he did feel that it might have been nicer had Sherlock remembered this little fact. It was a significant day for them both. Mummy Holmes and Daddy Holmes had to agree to let their son court a man who had almost caused his death.

 

The forty-year-old Irishman grew nostalgic as he recollected that day when he was truly nervous and stood outside the Holmes parents’ stately house in rural England, clutching at the sleeve of his Sherly’s Belstaff coat and resisting the urge to bite his nails. Along with future plans and aspirations came the long shadow of his past and his fears that the shadow might be longer than he could handle. What if Mummy Holmes just told him to sod off and gave Sherlock an ultimatum that it was either Jim or his family, a choice no man wanted to make? What if daddy Holmes just told him outright that he was no good for their son?

 

In that, he had been pleasantly surprised.

 

Mummy Holmes had welcomed him with open arms and daddy Holmes had given him a family heirloom, an expensive limited edition, vintage Omega watch.

 

He felt so nostalgic for a moment that he actually wished he had taken a trip to the same Holmes mansion instead of a weekend holiday at this angler’s paradise.

 

As he put away the last of the groceries he heard the front door open, then footsteps. Jim tensed and reached for the knife. Not one man’s steps but those of several people. Then some voices could be heard. suddenly Mummy Holmes appeared with big smiles, then daddy who was grinning affectionately, then big brother Mycroft who looked reptilian as ever and finally a chuckling John Watson who rolled his eyes upon seeing Jim holding a bag of tomatoes in one hand and a butcher knife in the other.

 

Jim gasped. Had Sherlock organized this surprise?

 

Of course he had! That explained the extra groceries. That also meant that he remembered!

 

“Ten years Jimmy boy,” Sherlock appeared at the end of the column, “Ten years with more smiles than scowls, with more happiness than pain, with more success and frustrations, with more friendship than fights, more better than worse!”

 

As mummy Holmes hugged and kissed him, John Watson high fived him and Reginald Holmes started saying he would cook dinner for all of them that night (Mycroft went outside to take a call, impatiently tapping his umbrella tip on the floor), a beaming Sherlock watched as Jim did something he usually never allowed himself to do.

 

He shed a few tears of happiness.


	4. How did he end up there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock spots some 'Jim' like characteristics in a strange murder mystery

The small boy pointed, squinting his eyes against the sun to see clearly. Suddenly a large hand covered his eyes and his father dragged him away.

 

The gathered little crowd kept whispering and pointing at the spectacle that greeted him up ahead while cops kept a strict eye on them and didn’t allow anyone to cross the ‘police line’.

 

Impaled on the top of a twenty-seven feet flag pole on the street, gutted like a fish right through his middle, was a man who was long dead and left hanging there like a ‘catch of the day’ exhibit. He had been killed several hours ago, as was evident from the condition of his body, and the pristine white snow accumulated on the sidewalk beneath the pole was stained crimson with the deceased’s blood. Forensic experts, sniffer dogs, cops, paramedics and even a police photographer hung around the crime scene, trying to make head or tail out of it.

 

No clues, no traces of the murderer, not even a footprint.

 

“Who might have done this gruesome thing?” One man asked the other man next to him.

 

“Seems like a pro,” came the response, “He even disabled the cameras around this place so apparently no footage was found for last evening and night.”

 

“Has to be some ace criminal, a psychopathic assassin or a ruthless mastermind.”

 

Everyone turned and looked at the tall, lanky, curly haired and green-eyed man in a Belstaff coat and deerstalker hat. “Sherlock Holmes,” the small boy in the group squealed with evident delight and a clench of his small fists, “The best detective and law-keeper is here. Now the killer will be caught, right detective? May I take a selfie with you? Oh please, may I? My sister, she is fifteen, she also likes you…..!”

 

Sherlock stared at the corpse and sighed. “Might just disappoint you a little my dear boy,” he said in his deep baritone, “But this one got away, I think.”

 

***

 

_16 hours earlier_

 

“Oh well, well, well, if this ain’t our former ‘Jim the criminal mastermind’ or ‘James Moriarty the astrophysicist genius and mathematician who could solve any problem’. Fancy seeing you do mundane stuff like…..grocery shopping?”

 

Jim was annoyed already from the moment he had noticed that idiot who happened to be a former ‘self-proclaimed’ rival of his. Copying his infamous style of ‘consulting criminal’, this fellow had made a small name for himself in Northern Ireland, where his ancestral home was, and then a fraction of Belgium, where he used to live. And still, he had the gall to call himself the second Moriarty. Hearing his sarcasm filled voice really made Jim cringe and then scowl.

 

“Alistair Jeremiah Convey, my so-called fan and then a copycat and finally a self-proclaimed unworthy rival,” he hissed, keeping his voice low as he scoured the vegetables section looking for asparagus, carrots, red cabbage, sweet corn and mushrooms, “To which tremendous misfortune do I owe this annoyance of your sudden appearance? I had warned you earlier, hadn’t I? Don’t dare show me your face or you might not live to tell the tale in your sad, horrid blog the next day.”

 

The short, stout, red haired man looked at him with one of those sly, condescending smiles that made Jim’s skin crawl with disgust. How dare this man, this pathetic mimic of his former lofty criminal self, ever dream of standing toe to toe with him and match eyeball to eyeball? Oh yes, he had forgotten, he was now one of the good guys. He no longer committed crimes or killed people or blew up things for a living. Now he was a scientist, an author and a husband, to Sherlock Holmes no less, his former nemesis and his current anchor and doting partner.

 

“Warnings and dire threats don’t suit a reformed criminal,” Alistair laughed, “You’d be too chicken. Oh, what are you buying? Asparagus? And lookie, there is chicken for real. Planning on Irish potato soup, grilled baby carrots and asparagus on the side and my-my, flavored frozen yoghurt as a dessert. How boring and predictable.”

 

“I might be a good guy now,” Jim warned him, trying to walk away fast so he got rid of him, “But that doesn’t mean Moriarty is dead. He can be alive, on demand.”

 

“Really?” The idiot was pushing his luck, “How can he be? He’s been taking it up the tail from the pasty-faced detective too long.”

 

Jim stopped dead in his tracks. The shopping trolley came to a screeching halt too. “Whoa,” the annoying Alistair stopped right next to Jim, “That hit a nerve? Your detective is really worth it? Giving up everything for? Thin, bony, skinny, so white you can be blinded, little pecker…..”

 

“How about you and I try to find out about that?” Jim warned, grabbing the startled man’s wrist and suddenly dragging him into a store room.

 

A little wary for the first time, Alistair followed the direction of Jim’s finger and saw a Union Jack flying atop a tall pole, about half a block away. “About what?” He asked foolishly, trying to get away and regretting his behavior, “Look, I was only trying to take the mick outta you…..”

 

“And I was trying to tell you,” Jim’s eyes glowed a strange shimmery inky black, like pits of coal that were burning for an eternity, “Don’t even think for a moment that Moriarty is really gone.”

 

***

 

Sherlock sighed and walked away from the throng of people.

 

“Sherlock!!!” Someone called out to him.

 

Sherlock turned, it was one of the Yard detectives who was hurriedly crossing the street to catch up with him. One of the young and new recruits, a woman named Becki Tyler, someone he actually liked because she was hardworking and intuitive. “Detective Tyler,” he greeted her in his usual bland and dismissive manner, “This is an open and shut case. Last night a tall German man got run over two blocks from here, right?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I can prove it to you that he killed this man, then accidentally got himself killed while trying to flee. Personal animosity caused this, nothing else.”


	5. That's what people do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock asks and Jim explains. 
> 
> This is a continuation of the previous snippet (Chapter 4)

One of the things that calmed Sherlock down and also set his pulse racing was the scent. Jim’s scent. He would get that whiff of vanilla and fabric softener, cologne and fresh apples, all held together by the spicy woody scent that was his husband’s very own. It was like walking through the woods in spring and inhaling all the goodness of the changing seasons.

 

As soon as he had closed the front door and hung up his coat, he heard Jim from the kitchen. “Did you finish the paperwork or will Phil Andersen show up again this evening, and stay for dinner yet again?”

 

Sherlock smiled and headed for the open-plan kitchen in their four-bedroom penthouse apartment, finding Jim there at the breakfast counter. He was perched on one of the high stools, clad in a short bath robe and drinking some Oolong tea. Sherlock placed his deerstalker on Jim’s head, kissed his neck ( _Good God, he smelled fresh and sexy!)_ and slid on to the barstool next to him. Jim obediently filled another cup and extended it towards Sherlock, a smile tugging at the corners of his full lips.

 

“What?” Jim asked.

 

“Did he insult me?” Sherlock asked point blank.

 

“Who insulted who?” Jim flinched slightly.

 

“Jim-Jim, you don’t need to hide anything from me,” Sherlock said in a reassuring tone, “I am on your side now. No matter what happens, that doesn’t change.”

 

“You. He insulted you.”

 

“And you just…..”

 

“The other guy was his henchman. Good riddance really. They’d have gotten worse over time. Earlier there was a Napoleon of crime who kept these smaller fries on their own little tracks. Right now that Napoleon is gone and these guys have more money and power than sense.”

 

Sherlock sighed and pulled Jim closer, looking right into those eyes which had continued to fascinate him for nearly ten years now. He could see tiny little changes from the thirty-year old criminal he had faced by the pool. Faint creases on the forehead, hint of crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, laugh lines around the mouth a slight glisten of silver at the temples that played with the otherwise dark, lustrous mane.

 

“Where is that Napoleon now?” The detective asked.

 

“Hmmm, I wonder where.”

 

“I’ll tell you.”

 

“Do tell.”

 

“In a grandiose lair, with his glorious lion, living the life of an uncrowned king who can go anywhere and do anything as he pleases, as long as his Sherlock is by his side. He is unassailable now, can’t be touched by the Yard or MI6, someone even my minor government official brother protects, someone who has won awards for his contributions to science and…….a man who can become a little boy during thunderstorms and cling to me all night.”

 

Jim’s pleased expression vanished and he looked dismayed. “You guessed?”

 

“Kinda hard not to,” Sherlock kissed his cheek.

 

“He said too much Sherlylocks,” Jim admitted, “He couldn’t have been permitted to live.”

 

“I agree. He had to go. When a man has to go, he has to be sent off. You covered your tracks well and I threw them off the scent. Case is closed and yes, the paperwork is done and dusted too. We can fuck all evening on the couch.”

 

Jim grinned, “Is this the same Sherlock who once said ‘people have died’?”

 

“He’s changed, just a little bit,” the detective replied, hand sneaking up Jim’s thigh, “If a certain mastermind can change and cross over to the brighter side, why can’t a certain detective take a sneak peek at the darker side of things.” He paused and added with a snicker, imitating Jim’s earlier response perfectly, “Do I care if two people have died? That’s what people dooooo!”


	6. On-again Off-again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lover's fight over 'nothing'

Jim was working at his home office, deep into some accounts and tax related work related to his web and the earnings from it, part of which he always converted into legitimate cash by investing them in his legally approved holdings. Suddenly the door slammed open and three people appeared. One was his armed personal security officer Ned, the other was his live-in housekeeper Jenny and the third was the man he had been warring with for almost a month.

 

Detective Sherlock Holmes glowered at him just as he glowered back into those sea-green eyes. “We tried to stop him but he was so insistent,” Jenny tried to explain but Jim held up a hand and silently indicated for them to leave.

 

Once they were gone and the door was closed behind them, the criminal mastermind looked at his former nemesis turned boyfriend turned ‘almost ex-lover’. For the past few weeks they had been either traveling and away from each other or bickering constantly whenever they got together or accusing one another of different kinds of miscreant behavior. They knew they were both at fault but neither man was willing to relent even an inch. Apologizing for a mistake was just not possible when you were either a genius detective or a brilliant mastermind and both carried around egos the size of Mount Everest.

 

“You blocked my number,” Sherlock’s deep voice boomed across the room.

 

“You’re asking me or telling me?” Jim shot back.

 

“Look, what the hell is your problem huh?” Sherlock put his hands on the edge of Jim’s desk and leaned in menacingly.

 

“Me?” Jim pointed at his own chest and stood up, not wanting to be intimidated, “I have no problem dude. I am merely hoping we would have a relationship someday where we don’t have to inject any poisonous expectation now and then. Mummy wants us to visit, Mycroft needs this job done, John won’t like this, Molly would like to come over, Mrs. Hudson should not be spoken to that way…..I am fed up.”

 

“So?” Sherlock sneered, “Giving up already? The man who promised to make an effort?”

 

“I could say something similar,” Jim stood up and stuffed his hands into his pockets, “Where is the man who promised to keep up? I had told you I have a set of rules, I said I am a hard man to please, I told you we can’t have jealousy creep in…..”

 

“All your rules? What about me? Isn’t this a relationship between equals?”

 

“I intended that. Those were days when I thought you were me. But you’re not. People’s opinions matter too much to you. You have too many friends and naturally you carry their expectations like a collar around your neck. I can’t put up with those things, no way.”

 

“What’s your point? You wanna break it off with me? Like you’ve been hinting at for a month now? Tell me, just spit it out man.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Sherlock stood up straighter, almost as if he had gotten a shock that had caused him to pull back. His shoulders slumped and his face crumpled for the briefest of moment before the ever-strong detective pulled himself together again. Standing to his full height he looked down at the man who had indeed burned the heart out of him and then trampled upon it. “Very well then, so be it,” he didn’t allow his voice to break or his eyes to water, “Have it your own way. I won’t contact you unless you reach out to me. No need to change your phone number, email id or address. Sherlock Holmes won’t come within a mile of your radius.”

 

“Maybe it’s a good thing,” he said after a pause, “Better than checking my phone every hour for messages from you and waking up at night thinking you’re calling or knocking on the door. I am a free man now.”

 

Jim was dismayed. He had ended up saying yes out of sheer stubbornness and a refusal to back off from a stance he had once taken but he was fully expecting Sherlock to hang in there, request, fight, argue, even threaten. But he had never thought his boyfriend of three years would actually show him a clean pair of heels and simply withdraw all stakes. His hand reached out to grab Sherlock as the Englishman headed for the door but his voice was lost and the words were stuck at his throat.

 

Never before had the closing of a door seemed such a finality to him. “Sherlock,” he croaked, “Don’t go please.” He quickly unblocked Sherlock from two of his phones. “Please Sherlock,” he whispered, staring at the screen of his computer, “Don’t give up on me.”

 

An hour later he had forgotten all about his work and was frantically checking all three of his phones and all six of his email Id’s for any messages or texts from Sherlock.

 

There was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those that fight will also unite, soon :)


	7. Separation Pangs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can't live with you, can't live without you

Sherlock was sitting in the midst of a messy living room in 221B. He was a man who created order out of chaos with his cases but at home he usually created chaos out of order. But even for a man of his ‘clutter and dust’ loving status, the room around him was in a pathetic, most deplorable state.

 

There were bullet holes in the wall, a cushion ripped apart and its feathers scattered, the couch had a hole where Sherlock had ripped it with his knife, papers lay strewn all over the place, there were food stains on the table, the kitchen was totally trashed.

 

London and indeed the world was in turmoil too. There were random heists, weird disappearances of people and objects of art, assassinations that didn’t make sense and several cases of blackmail or threats that couldn’t be explained. Troubled times inside and outside of 221B and Sherlock seemed to care for neither. Nobody apart from Mrs. Hudson, who came inside trembling twice a day to give Sherlock some food, and John Watson, who visited once a day just to ensure Sherlock had not started using something again, dared to visit the flat. Mycroft Holmes had tried to visit, so had Lestrade, even the ‘woman’ had tried to call Sherlock on his phone and each time they had been rebuffed so brutally none had tried again.

 

“Sherlock?” John cautiously poked his head in through the door, not wanting unidentified missiles flying towards him followed by a slew of curses.

 

“I’m alive, unfortunately,” came the curt reply.

 

“This has to stop.”

 

“Oh yeah? What should stop? Me being alive?”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous. This hermit like existence of yours. You haven’t left the flat in a month.”

 

“Who cares? Nobody does.”

 

“I do, Mrs. Hudson does, Lestrade and Mycroft do, so does the Yard and of course your clients and fans. Many people have started bombarding my blog, asking for you to take on another case and entertain them.”

 

“Entertain?” Sherlock yelled, “I am a jester???”

“No,” John quickly backtracked, stepping back at the vicious look on his friend’s face, “Of course you are not. You are no jester or clown Sherlock, you are the great detective, upholder of the law, an inspiration for an entire generation, a crush for many teenaged girls and women in their early twenties, a source of envy for other private investigators and last but not the least,” he paused for dramatic effect and smirked at his friend, “An estranged boyfriend of a certain heartbroken consulting criminal.”

 

“Oh yes if you insist…..wait, what?”

 

Sherlock looked startled, interested, his curiosity was certainly there. Good signs, John observed, the smirk growing bigger as he stepped closer and added, “If I may mention it, he has been wreaking havoc on the world and must be stopped. It seems a certain consulting detective used to keep his famous temper and impulses in check and generally made him a better, less dangerous person. But now that this detective is sulking behind closed doors, he is free to do whatever he wishes to, even if that means causing some self-harm….like shooting himself in the head, overdosing on sleeping pills or just throwing himself into a drug bust and getting knifed.”

 

Sherlock stood up, shaking all over. “Jim is dead.”

“No….”

 

“I shouldn’t have stopped calling him. I should have sorted this out a long time ago.”

 

“Sherlock….”

 

“This is all because of me. I started it, I should have finished it.”

 

“Listen to me….”

 

“John, just tell me where he is. Just tell me already. I can see that you know, I’ll be grateful as a friend and as a colleague if you give me one little hint. Where is Jim? Has something really happened to him or has Mycroft taken him into custody?”

 

“Barts rooftop.”

 

A gust of wind passed by and John blinked a few times, sure that Sherlock was standing a few feet away from him just now, right next to his chair. But he was gone, gone with the wind literally, having moved so fast across and out of the room that all John had seen was a blur and all he could feel was a gust of air as his friend stormed past. The sound of retreating footsteps and the slam of the front door sealed his belief and he heaved a sigh of relief.

 

“Mrs. Hudson,” he called out, “Come upstairs, let’s straighten up this place.”

 

“You sure?” The old woman called out, “He might come back and get very cross.”

 

“Nope. He won’t come back anytime soon and when he does, he won’t be alone or angry. In fact, he might just thank you for being so considerate and kind.”

 

Mrs. Hudson came upstairs with fresh sheets, the vacuum cleaner, clean towels and a dust cloth. She winced when she looked at the task ahead of her but seemed happy to have an extra pair of hands to help. “How are you so sure of what you just said John?” She asked, starting to pick up the trash from the floor, chairs and couch.

 

“If I were Sherlock I’d say deductive reasoning,” John grinned, starting to clean the inch thick dust on the mantelpiece, “But the truth is that…..Jim is already waiting for him there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do like matchmaker and peacemaker John. That avatar of his is my most favorite one of all, even if I do write a bit of JohnLock!


	8. Barts Rooftop with a twist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovers reunite, in eerily deja vu circumstances!

Jim sat on the thick blanket, sulky and sleepy. When was the last time he had slept more than three or four hours at night? Probably a month ago, maybe more. When was the last time he had eaten a proper meal? He couldn’t even remember.

 

And it was all Sherlock’s fault.

 

One whole month of watching his phone, his mailbox, his door, hoping the detective would establish some kind of contact or make an appearance. But no, of all things he had ever said to Sherlock throughout their relationship, he had to take this one to heart and obey him to the end? Silly fellow. Always on the clueless side, always a day late and a dollar short, always a complete disgrace when it came to romance and love. How could someone so brilliant be such an idiot in love? Did Sherlock’s famous brains take a vacation whenever emotions came to the forefront?

 

“This time I am going to throw him down myself,” he grumbled.

 

“You might as well do it.”

 

“Sherly!!!”

 

“Jimmy!!”

 

It was a faceoff again, eerily similar to the scene they had played together a few years ago. But those were different times and different days. Sherlock and Jim had been nemesis and nemesis back then, not lover boys who had been sleeping together and alternately sharing each other’s lodgings. It was a game then, it was all about real life now. The only common thread was anger. Sherlock looked just as livid as Jim did. Jim’s fists were as tightly clenched as Sherlock’s were.

 

“Off you pop,” Jim pointed to the edge.

 

“No, you do the bang first,” Sherlock pointed to the mouth.

 

“If you don’t jump I will really shoot myself and there will be no fake ammunition this time,” Jim snarled at the taller man.

 

Sherlock stepped closer, “I bet you don’t have a gun on you.”

 

Jim colored, “You really want me to….”

 

“No. I didn’t ask you to pop.”

 

“You left me.”

 

“You asked me to.”

 

“If you don’t leave me alone and just leave….just go….then everyone you care for will die.”

 

“Now that’s a very tough choice,” Sherlock grabbed Jim’s coat and dragged him away from the blanket he was sitting on, making him stand with his back propped against the wall and his front plastered against Sherlock’s taller frame. “You see little Jim, you intimidate people because you have always been the scared little boy inside. You kill people to feel powerful and you threaten them before they can threaten you. I know you very well and that’s why I am pretty damned sure you love me and you can’t kill me, or yourself, so I am not worried by what you just said.”

 

“I said all those you love…..”

 

“The first name is yours. Go ahead, kill yourself just to spite me.”

 

Jim swallowed.

 

Sherlock took a deep breath, “You know what, you might be a five feet eight inch midsize man but your ego happens to be taller than even Sebastian, your behemoth bodyguard. What do you take me to be Jimmy? Your beck and call man? You wish to breakup, so I stop seeing you. You feel lonely, regretful and wish to come back to me again, I would have to quietly slot myself back into your life. It doesn’t work that way. It never can. You liked me because I wasn’t a sissy or a pushover but that’s exactly what you’re trying to make out of me.”

 

“Couldn’t you come back to me, at my place, to argue over this?” Jim asked, nearly in tears.

 

“I couldn’t leave my flat,” Sherlock said truthfully, “I haven’t left it since we had that moment….”

 

“I know,” Jim said in a small voice, “When John told me, I agreed to see you here.”

 

Sherlock looked at the cake, flowers, thermos of coffee, brandy, the dismantled four foot telescope and knew Jim had actually put some effort into this. It was getting dark and the stars would be shining soon. It was like one of their earlier dates, gazing at stars while holding hands and sipping some brandy spiked coffee, nibbling at some food. Perfect!

 

“So,” he said, locking eyes with Jim, “Are we back together?”

 

“Mmmm, maybe,” Jim pushed him away and went to sit on the blanket. His hips swayed from side to side, provocatively.

 

Sherlock suppressed his chuckle and called out, “So you okay if there’s no makeup sex tonight?”

 

Jim spun around fast and hissed, “What else Sherlock? No kisses, no cuddles, no holding hands, no showering together, no sucking on toes, no toys…..lay out all the conditions on the table. You know you have the upper hand right now so of course you’ll play haughty. Why did I not think about this before?”

 

“Because,” Sherlock joined Jim on the blanket and started to set up the telescope, “You know the former virgin is quite the sex-addict when it comes to you.”


	9. Rough and Randy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft learns a lesson. 
> 
> (There is some Mystrade in this chapter :D)

Mycroft was fast asleep.

 

It was 2-30 am and he had gone to bed only about an hour and half ago. There was a bomb scare in Birmingham and a corresponding terrorist sleeper cell in Glasgow identified and linked to it, so he had to be on the job until and unless the threat was eliminated, the suspects arrested and the country’s premier informed about it. There was also a call from the Queen’s office, from her equerry, which Mycroft had answered with a fax.

 

His partner, Greg Lestrade, was sleeping soundly next to him, his arm thrown casually over the MI6 chief’s chest. The recently promoted assistant commissioner had gone to bed on time for a change that night, around 10-30 pm. As upholder of law and a Scotland Yard senior official, Greg was often away at odd hours and slept at weird times like 3 am or 4 am in the morning, sometimes even as late as 6 am. He had this incredible ability to sleep at any time of the day or night, any place, any situation. Officer’s training perhaps. But for Mycroft it was difficult to sleep during the day and almost impossible to sleep properly on any bed other than the one here or the one in the bedroom in mummy’s house.

 

So, it was most annoying for him when the constant and insistent vibrations from his cell phone caused him to wake up at that ungodly hour. Holy Christ! Only 90 minutes of sleep. His skin would droop and he’d have dark circles without proper rest. Nope, he couldn’t receive a knighthood (one which was surely coming up that year) looking like an old worn-out rag.

 

But first things first, he had to answer the damned call.

 

“Whiizzitt?” Greg asked sleepily. Then he extended his arm over Mycroft and grabbed the phone from the nightstand, “Gosh, it’s Sherlock. Answer it Mike.”

 

“No,” Mycroft cringed, “Go back to sleep.”

 

“Hell, no. He might be in trouble.”

 

“99% of the times he called me at this hour, it was either to tell me I am wrong about some theory or to ask me if I remembered the name of some distant relative. Once he even called me to ask what mummy would like for Christmas. It’s surely not important.”

 

The vibrations stopped. Within seconds they started again. This was the third time the call was coming in.

 

“Mike,” Greg sat up, “I can’t sleep unless you talk to him. nowadays even Dr. Watson doesn’t stay there. It could be anything, anyone. He has some powerful enemies, he is alone, he could be in some serious…..”

 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Mycroft answered and put it on speaker, “Hear it yourself.”

 

A loud sound of distress silenced both of them at once. Mycroft sat bolt upright and looked at the phone, clasping his mouth in shock. There were choking sounds, panting and then a loud sound of something being thrown.

 

“Hnnnnn…….uggggg……..pleasepleasplease…..nooooo…..uhhhhhh…….nnnkkkkkhhh…..” More horrific sounds followed and they could hear someone abusing Sherlock. Greg gave his partner a sour look of ‘I told you so’ and shook his head. He was quite fond of Sherlock and hadn’t forgotten all those cases the consulting detective had solved, which had more or less resulted in his promotion to the current post. “Okay we need to be there right away,” Mycroft got out of bed and rushed towards the closet, “Please call Anthea and ask her to be there, with proper backup and equipment. Oh, I need to ask the incompetent surveillance crew that does the night shift…..how did they even let this happen to my kid brother?”

 

***

 

Greg wished Mycroft hadn’t overreacted after under-reacting initially.

 

Not only had he rushed to 221B along with Greg, Anthea and the backup team, he had also called and informed mummy and daddy Holmes who were staying in their London flat that week. Naturally the aged couple were nervous and tense and decided to pay a visit to their youngest-born’s flat, to ensure he was okay.

 

As they approached the flat, it was all quiet and nothing seemed out of place. The parents had been asked to stay behind and Mycroft led the charge, like a knight in shining armor. The first three officers burst inside the sitting room, taking a sweeping glance over the entire space before showing the thumbs-up sign to the Holmes family and Greg. Thereafter there was no stopping Mycroft who, along with Greg and Anthea, barreled through the bedroom door and turned on the nearest light he could reach.

 

“Oh Holy…..” Anthea closed her eyes and then opened them a crack, then began to laugh.

 

Greg shot out of the room, red faced.

 

Mycroft stood there, his phone ringing again, his eyes nearly popping out as he stared at the two men in bed. Sherlock was on his back, long legs in the air (one of which slammed down for a moment and caused his elder sibling’s phone to ring once more), Moriarty kneeling between them and his bare butt in full view as it whipped back and forth while he fucked the detective hard. Sherlock’s hands were tied, he was blindfolded, and he kept asking constantly ‘Do we have an audience, I can smell three different fragrances….uh-uh-uh….pleeeaaase….noooo don’t stop….ohhh.’

 

***

 

**_2 hours earlier_ **

 

“Whatthe…..”

 

Jim was astounded and immediately aroused when he had returned to London and received a text from Sherlock with an attached picture of the detective sitting on his favorite chair, legs parted, obscenely hot bulge in his dark pants, one of his hands inside his trousers which was partially open. The caption was ‘This is what you have been missing for the last two weeks. Hurry the fuck up tortoise.’

 

He had rushed to 221B, literally flown up the stairs and had been pulled into the flat by Sherlock who was waiting for him in his underwear. Within seconds Jim’s clothes had disappeared and he was plugged hard against the bedroom door by a horny Sherlock who insisted that they put out the immediate need first. In two minutes an explosive orgasm happened, leaving the two men sufficiently relaxed and in control to prolong their next act. In their need to continue this, none of them had noticed Sherlock’s phone lying at the foot of the bed, or how his big toe had been repeatedly pressing on the ‘Mike-the-Monster’ speed dial button again, and again, and yet again.

 

They were on the verge of cumming when the door had burst open and three figures swept into the privacy of their bedroom, as if this was the most natural thing to do.

 

“Stop,” Mycroft covered his eyes and began to back out, “Shameless…..”

 

Jim upped the ante and started slamming into his lover, “Says the one….fuckkkk…..who gets into his brother’s…..ohhhh yeah…..bedroom without knock….knocking….when his brother’s getting knocked up…..fuck, so tight…..Sherlyyyyy!”

 

Anthea watched, grinning, till Mycroft loudly called out, “ANTHEA.”

 

“Oh yeah-yeah, on my way.”

 

“NOW.”

 

“Okay-okay….here I am.”

 

Mycroft heard Sherlock scream out a profanity, followed by a scream of ‘JIMMYYY’ and hurriedly shut the door. It was done just on time because in came Eugenia and Reginal Holmes, both of them looking absolutely tense and anxious about the safety and wellbeing of their son.

 

“Where is Sherlock?” Mummy Holmes asked, “How is he?”

 

Mycroft swallowed and said, “He is great mum. If he gets any better he’d be bearing twins.”

 

“What does that mean?” Reginald asked, clueless expression on his face.

 

“It means we better get back to where we belong,” the clever Mrs. Holmes picked up the hint, “Which is certainly not here, at this time of the night.”

 

“The next time,” Mycroft hissed at Greg, “Just trust me on my instincts about my brother, okay? We didn’t need to be here, I didn’t have to embarrass myself before my team and my parents and I could have had more of what I don’t get enough of…..sleep.”

 

“Yeah,” Greg said cheerfully, “But something good came out of this after all.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Let’s go home and you can fuck me, Moriarty style. That way I can have more of what I don’t have enough of……you!”

 


	10. The Tardy Bridegroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a wedding between two consultants and one of them is worried that the other will be late....again

Sherlock was always late. 

 

It was like a never-ending conundrum for Jim Moriarty to figure out why, WHY, the detective could never reach a place on time. “He always reaches ahead of time while solving murders, thefts, heists, but when it comes to other commitments he’s such a tardy fool. Remember the time he invited me to lunch with his parents and turned up for dinner instead. I was stuck there alone, trying to figure out my future in-laws all on my own.”

 

Sebastian suppressed a grin and pinned the rose on to the lapel of Jim’s expensive cream-colored jacket. Time and love had changed Jim but why take a chance with him, a man who had displayed such impulse control problems and cruel moves in the past! Sebastian decided to practice ‘neutrality’ and replied, “Well, to be fair to him he always shows up, even if he’s late. Now stand still, let me check if you’re good to go or not.” He bent down and pretended to smooth out Jim’s trousers but in reality he was grinning. He knew the Jim and Sherlock pair would be explosive, he just didn’t think it would be so comical as well. Sherlock getting delayed, Jim getting angry, the verbal spats, then the making up to each other, funnier than funny!!!

 

“I can feel you shaking,” Jim growled, trying to kick at Sebastian’s shins, “Bastard. You are laughing at me.”

 

Sebastian got to his feet, “Um….just remembered the day you were supposed to go to France with him, for a holiday at St Tropez. He showed up so late that you had to organize a fake hijack to delay the take-off.”

 

"What about the time we were to meet in the underground, where he was supposed to show me the new tunnel he had discovered? I kept waiting and waiting and Mycroft got so suspicious that he sent down half his unit to arrest me and bring me out safely. When he got to know I was waiting there for Sherly he got so frustrated that he ate six slices of cake and broke his diet, right in front of me.”

 

"Mike is funny.”

 

“Yeah, but Sherlock is not. He is annoying.”

 

“And yet, you are marrying him. In an hour anyways.”

 

“That’s provided he shows up on time.”

 

“Look, I have put John Watson and Mary Watson on the job. They promised me they would bring him to the church exactly at eleven in the morning. No delays whatsoever. We have been texting each other since morning and all seems to be well so far.”

 

He paused and handed Jim a large package and held back a smaller one. Jim automatically extended his hand to take both but Sebastian gently pushed his hand away. “No boss, this one is for both of you and I’d rather hand it over to Sherlock. This one, this is yours, though I am sure even Sherlock will benefit from it.”

 

“What-What is it?” Jim asked, eyes glowing. Then a thought struck him and he smiled broadly, “Oh….that? No, you didn’t. Oh yes you did. You actually got one made for me?”

 

Sebastian nodded with a snicker. “How could I forget a kink you share with your soon-to-be husband? It is a white bridal dress in pure chiffon with pearls encrusted on it, made to measure just for you, very lacey and lots of splits and plunges, in fact the thigh split actually shows some ‘interesting glimpses’ of your private parts. I also bought thongs, matching padded bra, pantyhose and high heeled pumps in your size. To complete the look there is a small make-up kit inside the package, with proper instructions on a piece of paper. Mary has written all the steps, how to look smoking hot on your wedding night.”

 

“Ohhhhh Sebby,” Jim hugged him tight, “I love you.”

 

“I know.”

 

“The apartment at Burj-Khalifa, Dubai, is yours. I shall ask Arthur to prepare the papers.”

 

“Can I also have the yellow Lamborghini you keep there?”

 

“Yeah, of course. All yours.”

 

***

 

There was a throng of reporters and curious onlookers on the way to the church. Sebastian had ensured a water-tight security so nobody other than those invited to the wedding could escape past the security officers on duty and click a photo of the actual proceedings. Naturally the wannabe gatecrashers and the media had chosen to wait on the route to the church, which was cordoned off on all sides thanks to Sebastian’s security team.

 

"Wait,” Sebastian laughed, “They are stopping Mycroft. I forgot to tell them he is not an enemy here, but an ally.”

 

He made the chauffeur stop the car and got out to rescue Mycroft who was fending off the media with his umbrella. As soon as the media and fans spotted Jim in the car, they forgot Mycroft and made a beeline for the limo in which the mastermind sat. Jim put on his best snooty look and stared fixedly ahead, hoping nobody forced their way into the vehicle. The glass was the best in class and bullet proof and the doors were all locked, so he was relatively safe. Suddenly he heard sounds and gasped, “Jeffrey, is someone on the roof and trying to get in through the sun-roof?”

 

“Y-Yes sir,” the chauffeur said, “But I think I can fix that.”

 

As his chauffeur managed to get people off the roof of the limo, Jim heard interesting questions being thrown at him. Through the closed windows he heard them speak, addressing the questions directly at him.

 

The barrage of questions ranged from catty to clever to downright curious. Some were rather embarrassing and intrusive. A few were just comments that didn’t warrant any answers, like wishes and endearments. Jim heard a lot of ‘awww’s from women and a few squeals from children. ‘Mr. Moriarty, are you going to work with your husband now’. ‘James, is it true Mycroft Holmes has been collaborating with you for all MI6 missions’. ‘You were coveted by all three Holmes siblings, but why did you specifically choose Sherlock’. ‘Where is the honeymoon Jimmy? Or has it already happened?’ ‘We heard you love to cook Sunday lunches for your partner, does he also cook for you’. One idiot even asked ‘When you have kids who will be dad and who will be papa’.

 

Jim wished he could blow them all up.

 

***

 

The moment Jim entered the church, soft romantic music started to play and the two hundred odd guests stood up and smiled. A soft hum went around and he could clearly see that his appearance for the special day had drawn positive remarks.

 

“He is late,” he lamented to Sebastian who walked a step behind him, “Again.”

 

He heard Sebastian exhale in a ‘I know’ kind of manner. He spotted Mycroft on the front pew and the MI6 chief shrugged helplessly, indicating he too felt this was not a done thing. John stood in his best man’s position, looking similarly helpless. Jim felt anger boil up inside him and he planned to cut his husband in three different places that night. Being tardy to lunches and dinners and casual dates were still okay, how the hell did that man dare to be late for his own wedding. There had to be a limit for this tardiness.

 

As soon as Jim reached the end of the aisle, the most stunning thing happened.

 

The priest took off his robe, fake mustache and beard and wig and took off the thick glasses, revealing Sherlock Holmes in a smart and sharp suit in light grey, a big grin on his face.

 

"Sher-Sherlock!!!” Jim gasped.

 

“Not late,” Sherlock showed his watch, “But you are....by two and half minutes!”

 

“B-But the priest….?”

 

“Here.”

 

Jim did a facepalm while Sebastian and John laughed.

 

The gagged and bound priest was pulled out from behind the altar and the entire crowd present in the church gasped collectively. “Lestrade,” Sherlock announced and the shocked DI stood up, “This man is guilty of attacking a parishioner because that fellow had found out he was embezzling church funds. I had to do this, restrain and gag him I mean, or he would have escaped before you could get to him. You have to arrest him and form a proper charge-sheet, details of which Andersen can help you with. But first, can he please complete the wedding vows…I mean help Jim and I with the wedding vows?”

 

***

 

"I wasn’t late,” Sherlock whispered as they posed for photos post the service, “And you look gorgeous.” He was showing a thumbs-up sign to Sebastian Moran who had started chatting with Mary, Molly and John. The priest had been arrested and taken away by Lestrade’s men and Mycroft was busy trying to avoid the DI who had, of late, begun to insist they set a date for their wedding too.

 

“What did Sebby give you?” Jim asked curiously, “And don’t look so smug, you were supposed to be on time today. It’s no special favor.”

 

“He gave me, actually he has given both of us, identical couple’s watches from one of the best Swiss makers of our times,” Sherlock whispered, then grinned for the camera as the shutterbug snapped away the group pics, “Blue dial, black camel leather strap, six time zones, both automatic and manual modes available, a timer and alarm built in and also a tracking device inserted. The man has class and wit, no wonder you depend so much on him. I have actually begun to like him a little bit.”

 

“Hmmm, nice! I have started liking your pet too, doc Watson I mean, though I do like the women a lot more…..Mary, Molly, old Hudders!”

 

“Yeah-Yeah-Yeah, I like the women on your side too. Like Irene. By the way, what did your dear ‘Sebby’ give you for a wedding gift?”

 

“You’ll find out tonight.”

 

“Let’s skip the after party and convert day into night, right away. I have a feeling this is some toy or something?”

 

“Don’t be greedy. Tonight will happen when tonight is ‘here’. No, not a toy but something even better!” Jim cleared his throat, “Ahem! Tonight, you can be as late as you want with one thing.”

 

“Like what?” Sherlock looked at Jim, confused. It was time for them to pose for pictures as a couple and they put their arms around each other, speaking in hushed whispers. Jim felt Sherlock’s hand creep downwards from his waist to his butt, caressing one side.

 

 _This man is now all mine. Finally, I have absolute rights over him. I have legal rights over him,_ Jim thought as he sighed with bliss.  “As late as you want to be while you’re cumming inside me,” he guffawed and watched his husband blush as red as a heap of tomatoes at the Spanish Tomatina festival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is a sequel where we will learn more about the 'wedding dress'


	11. The White Dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim wears a wedding dress on their first night together

The noise that came out of Sherlock’s throat could easily be misinterpreted as one of ‘distress’ or ‘choking’ had one heard him without seeing the condition he was in. After a rather long day, first the wedding, then the luncheon, then changing into party clothes and hosting a rather lavish evening party, both men were completely drained of energy. Still, Jim had managed to change into the ‘wedding dress’ before Sherlock joined him in the honeymoon suite.

 

And the moment he had closed the door his eyes had nearly popped out.

 

Jim stood in the doorway between the sitting room and the bedroom, clad in the wedding dress. Made of lace and chiffon, with a long train and a dangerously high split right up to his crotch, plunging neckline and almost entirely backless, it was holy smoking hot. On top of that Jim had worn high heels on his feet and expertly applied lipstick and mascara on his full lips and expressive eyes, making him look so sexy and hot that Sherlock was sure he was on the verge of ‘combusting’. He stiffened so fast he could almost feel himself cream his pants and his right hand flew to his crotch, palming himself over the fabric.

 

“Going to just stand there?” Jim turned and walked into the bedroom with a swagger, accentuating the movement of his hips.

 

“Fuck…..” Sherlock started to shed off his clothes.

 

“I thought you’d like to fuck me in this dress. I have a thong on, which can be pushed aside.”

 

“FUCK.”

 

“You can take off my bra because you like….ehm, my nipples, but let me keep the heels on.”

 

“FUCKKKK!”

 

“Stop saying it and do it, NOW!”

 

Jim had underestimated just how excited Sherlock was and suddenly he found himself on his front on the bed, Sherlock straddling him. He wanted to ask him to take it a bit slow and romantic at first, do some foreplay, but the detective was a growling animal by then and totally out of control. The loud screeching tear of fabric filled his ears along with Sherlock’s desperate pants and moans as the beautiful dress was torn off his body, leaving him in only his innerwear and heels.

 

Deft, expert fingers probed his opening and quickly prepared him while Sherlock kept him pinned to the bed and smothered him with kisses. Jim’s brain stopped functioning completely and he could no longer think, speak or analyze. He could only feel.

 

Then he was flipped to his back, his legs were raised over Sherlock’s broad shoulders and he was claimed with such ferocious passion, over and over again, that he lost count of how many times he had been made to explode. At some point they fell asleep like that, tangled together, Sherlock still wearing his socks and Jim wearing his pantyhose and heels, exhausted from their lovemaking, the champagne they had drunk and the long day.

 

***

 

Sherlock woke up around three in the afternoon the next day, smiling and stretching and enjoying his sleep-in. Oh boy, he was married, he was now married, and his husband was Jim Moriarty, a husband he always wanted, a husband who was…..sitting next to him and upset?!

 

“Hey Jimmy babe,” he sat up abruptly and then self-consciously took off his socks which, in his opinion, made him look very silly indeed, “What happened? From your eyes I can imagine you’ve been awake only for a few minutes but….you look unhappy.” He paused and pulled the newly married ‘Mr. Moriarty Holmes’ into his arms and whispered, “Did I hurt you last night? I went a bit overboard, I know, but then you wore the dress and I went stock-crazy. I have no clue what came over me, I just lost it and pounced on you.”

 

Jim pouted, “Don’t get me wrong Sherly, I loved every moment of last night. You losing control and becoming a greedy animal and devouring me for hours, that’s the hottest thing ever. But I wanted a romantic dance before that, a jive or a proper waltz, me in the dress and you in your suit. I also wanted you to use honey and ice on me and do an extended foreplay. I had the music and all those items ready for our use. But you went straight to the act and in the process you also….. you also tore my wedding dress to bits. I wanted to keep it, hopefully with a bit of semen stain, for memories.”

 

***

 

“Irene, Molly, Mary, what’s going on? What are you doing?”

 

John was astounded to see the three women engaged in what seemed like ‘re-constructing some piece of flimsy see-through cloth’ with the help of safety pins, needle and thread and a couple of brooches.

 

“What does it look like Doctor Watson,” Irene answered him while Mary and Molly simply gave him embarrassed grins and continued their work, “We are trying to put together a twenty-five thousand pounds Stella McCartney bespoke wedding dress that ran into rough weather last night and needs some rescuing. Since it is bespoke we cannot buy a similar one and since we only have time till tonight we cannot re-stitch it completely.”

 

“So we are taking shortcut,” Mary added, “Honey, dinner can be ordered in tonight. For all of us, including our guests.”

 

“I’ll cook, no problem.”

 

Molly sighed and looked at Mary, “He still hasn’t got it.”

 

John stared, bewildered. His wife quickly added, “You won’t have the time John because you need to go to the airport with the ‘reconstructed’ dress and hand it over to Sherlock. He’s leaving for his honeymoon tonight, via a midnight flight, so you need to be there by ten pm. Yes, this is Jim’s wedding dress and Sherlock tore it into sixteen pieces last night, but Jim wanted him to be romantic and serenade him and all that good stuff while he wore the dress, so our detective buddy asked us to put it back together again.”

 

“Right now we are half way through,” Molly said as she started to sew together two pieces which looked like the left and right side of a corset, “We should be done in another three hours or so. It won’t be the Stella McCartney original but a decent lookalike of it.”

 

John rolled his eyes, “So much effort into this and he will tear it again into at least ten pieces by the end of the night?”

 

Irene winked, “That’s what friends do John. Especially for friends like Sherlock Holmes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They really should have filmed a fantasy scene between Sheriarty with Jim in that dress and Sherlock smoking while they slow dance.


	12. The Hidden Diamond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim isn't the sort to confess

“Did you steal the diamond?”

 

“No.”

 

Sherlock had asked Jim this question at least a hundred times and every single time the same answer came back to him, in the same brief format, a firm but singular ‘No’. Sherlock didn’t buy that completely and kept analyzing various situations, scenarios and reasons in his head as to how Jim might have stolen the jewel and why he wouldn’t admit it to Sherlock. He knew Jim was now legit but that didn’t mean he didn’t indulge in his ‘hobby’ of removing things from places and watching the fun as mayhem ensued and cops, intelligence teams and even private investigators ran around in circles trying to find out what the hell happened.

 

He was the naughty Magpie after all.

 

So, one day when they were in the shower together, Sherlock grabbed Jim’s rapidly hardening member and gave it a few tugs, then asked in a husky voice, “Did you steal the Vera diamond?”

 

“Uhhhhhnnnnn.”

 

“Did you?”

 

“N-No.”

 

One day as they lay in bed after a heavy lunch, enjoying a rare Sunday off together, he cradled a sleepy Jim in his arms and asked, “Did you steal the diamond?”

 

Jim yawned.

 

“Did you steal it?”

 

“No.”

 

Then a day arrived when Sherlock sat Jim down on his lap and pleaded. “Listen to me babe, maybe there is a curse on this jewel. Like the Hope Diamond, which was stolen from the statue of a deity, a Hindu deity, this was also taken from a holy spot from an Indian Maharaja’s house. And, like the hope diamond misfortune has befallen on those who possessed this bauble. One of them was jailed for a crime he didn’t commit, another one died of an overdose, the third lost his career.”

 

Jim snickered, “The one who got jailed for a crime he didn’t commit was a man who willingly took on the crime committed by his son. The one who died of an overdose was an addict much before he had the diamond. The one who lost his career used to dope, and again that way before he had the jewel. So, superstitions and curses are not going to work on me Sherlock. If you think I have the diamond then prove it.”

 

Sherlock was thereafter possessed by a mad urge to find the diamond and let Jim know he still had it in him. But Jim was Jim and he had done such a good job of concealing his tracks that not even Sherlock could pick up the trail.

 

Years passed and it was Sherlock’s fiftieth birthday. Jim had suggested he’d throw a large party but Sherlock had shot that idea down, saying he was too old and too acerbic to celebrate a birthday with a big party. An easier option was to have a quiet celebration, with a thoughtful gift, some intelligent chatter over a meal that was light and unfussy, and then some hot sex in the tub, which Sherlock loved. So Jim had organized just that and by the time things proceeded to the tub, a half-naked Sherlock impulsively asked his forty-nine year old husband, to whom he had been married for 13 long years. Only this time, he used a different ‘verb’.

 

“Did you _hide_ the Vera diamond?”

 

“Yes.”

 

The answer was so unexpected that Sherlock almost slipped on the dry bathroom floor. Balancing himself with one hand on the edge of the tub and the other against the sink, he gasped, “What?”

 

“Yes, I did _take and hide_ the fifty-carat jewel.”

 

“But you kept telling me that no, you didn’t…..”

 

“I didn’t lie then. I am not lying now.”

 

“I don’t get it….oh wait, you hid it somewhere, didn’t you?” Sherlock’s eyes sparkled with the joy of deductive reasoning, “I have heard you say more than once that unless you have kept it with yourself it’s not stealing. It’s just removed and hidden. So you had removed it from the house of the Austrian baroness and hid it somewhere. Now, what could be such a hiding place? You had to feel the gem would be secure there and at the same time it had to be somewhere close enough for you to do a quick check whenever you wished.”

 

“Uh-huh, go on.”

 

Jim looked amused.

 

“Yes, I got it now. There is only one place you visit very often and one place which nobody would bother to check on.”

 

Jim blinked in mock surprise, “Whoa! So, where is it?”

 

“Mummy’s grave.”

 

Jim did a facepalm and dropped his clothes, stepping into the tub with a shake of his head. “Really?” He asked as he soaked in the tub, holding his hand out for Sherlock to join him, “Is that the best you can do? Eugenia’s grave?”

 

Cheeks flaming red and feeling more embarrassed than ever, Sherlock shrugged and stripped out of the rest of this clothes. The younger Sherlock would have stubbornly refused to give in but now that he was older and wiser, he didn’t wish to waste time with such trifles. “Maybe I misread the signs and little clues, or I didn’t psycho-analyze you well,” he admitted, stepping into the blissfully hot tub water, “Okay, if I say I give up, will you tell me where the Vera diamond is?”

 

Jim nodded, “Yeah.”

 

“Tell me then.”

 

“You need to say something first.”

 

“Oh well I…..”

 

“Say it.”

 

“Jim, please tell me where the Vera diamond is. I give up, I can’t find it on my own.”

 

Jim’s eyes glowed like diamonds and he winked at his husband before settling down between Sherlock’s open legs. Letting out a huge breath of relaxed happiness, he whispered into Sherlock’s neck. “Remember around this time, a little over fourteen years ago, when we were just beginning our relationship? I had returned from a trip to Belgium-Switzerland-Austria with a gift for you, on your thirty-sixth birthday.”

 

“Yeah, a crystal statue of me, in Speedos. It was beautiful, cute and funny at the same time. My butt….I mean the butt cheeks on the statue were such bubbles that I immediately commented that ‘crystal Sherlock’ had definitely had a butt job…….JIM? Oh fuck you genius!”

 

Jim grinned, “It is the right butt-cheek.”

 

Sherlock was about to jump out of the tub but Jim held him in place. “Nope, stay here and let’s finish our bath. It’s going nowhere Sherly. It’s been exactly at the same place for nearly a decade and a half.”

 

“One question,” Sherlock sat back down in the water again, “Why tell me now?”

 

“Because the baroness is dead silly. She died a week ago, at the ripe old age of eighty-nine. And since you helped her escape a murder attempt from one of her employees and another swindling attempt from her nephew, she has bequeathed this jewel to you in her will. Poor old carp thought the jewel was gone, hence that one line in the will was of no real use.”

 

Sherlock grasped Jim’s hand in shock excitement, “Her overall estate is worth less than the jewel. Imagine the look on the faces of her children and grandchildren when this becomes known?”

 

“We don’t need the world to know this,” Jim replied, playfully biting at Sherlock’s finger, “Now that you know you have legal rights over it and it is no longer a ‘stolen’ jewel, let’s leave crystal Sherlock’s bubble butt intact, shall we!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd imagine Sherlock has a dark side and Moriarty is redeemable, but who cares how the boys are when they're adorable together. Love to all Sheriarty/JimLock fans!


	13. The Violinist and the Painter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strangers in broad daylight  
> Infatuated but misled  
> Star crossed, ill-fated  
> Lost in plain sight

1950, Post WWII era, France

 

James Moriarty looked at the tall, lean curly haired man playing the violin about twenty feet ahead. The low, sentiment-provoking strains jumped to higher startling tones within milliseconds, the perfect solo rendition of the ‘Der Erlkonig’ by Schubert. For nearly a month he had been listening to this violinist and gazing at him from a distance, spending many hours drinking in the sight of him and celebrating the beautiful summer in the pretty city of Montpellier through the perfect catchy, vivacious melodies the tall stranger played every afternoon.

 

He painted as he watched, frequently shielding his deep, dark brown eyes behind his low-slung newsboy cap. He had to pay rent and put food on the table, so work had to go on. Fortunately for him, his work didn’t demand movement so he could stick to that spot and ogle his crush.

 

Only three or four times had the stranger gazed back at him and James, or Jim as he was called, had looked away hurriedly, worried that the fellow would either laugh at him or move away to a different spot. This was a popular tourist spot and the best place for young artists like them to be present and make a nice extra bob during the tourist season. Make hay while the sun shone above them for three or four months and the sea was warm and inviting enough for swims. Moving away would be bad for business. Being laughed at would be a cause for heartbreak. Jim had lost three of his closest in the Great War and didn’t want to face more losses.

 

***

 

Sherlock Holmes counted the notes and coins. Not bad at all. He was making more than he did at his regular job, which was working as a lab assistant in a chemical factory. Taking six weeks off to come to Montpellier in summer had been the best decision ever.

 

What had been an intended tourist trip had turned out to be a money-making scheme for him, and something more!

 

From day one he had spotted the shorter man, dark haired and dark eyed, as pretty as the paintings he created on canvas like a total pro. As Sherlock played, he always kept a piece of glass before him, right next to the book of compositions he had open and mounted on a wooden stand. In that he caught a reflection of this brunette, those bambi eyes and bewitching smile, as he created lifelike sketches and bold, vibrant paintings on canvas. The more he watched the man, the better he played.

 

In fact, he had composed something for the first time. For that man. He wanted to walk up to him, introduce himself and play that theme for him.

 

But he wasn’t sure if that would be appreciated. What if the man got upset and called him out for it? What if he was cast out of the town for being a dirty homosexual. Even though it was 1950 and not 1590, the world still viewed homosexuality as a disease.

 

Sherlock had seen what had become of a friend of his, who had approached the wrong man.

 

Maybe he would take a risk, on the very last day of his stay here.

 

***

 

Jim groaned when he realized his mistake. He had already set up shop at the pier and was about to start with the first portrait sketch of the day when he remembered he had to inform his neighbor Monique that his pet cat Thomas needed to be fed. The lazy feline had sauntered off somewhere that morning and Jim, who had a regular job as a math teacher at a local school, couldn’t wait any longer for the pet’s return. He had to run to the nearby school since he was getting late and had totally forgotten to leave a bowl of milk for the pet.

 

Damn! The lanky attractive musician with his wild, flowing, curly locks was late that day. Usually he was there much before Jim, who dropped in only after 12 PM, post his return from the school where he taught.

 

He sighed as he looked at the covered portrait he had been carrying around for a week now, a special one he had created by capitalizing on his month-long obsession and fascination with that violinist. He planned to gift it to him but could never decide on the right moment to do so. Maybe today would be the day. Maybe by the time they wrapped up, say around six in the evening, he could just place the painting right next to the wooden tripod stand the violinist used to mount his music manuscript and books of compositions. Perhaps leave a small note attached to the painting with a smiley drawn on it and his address scribbled at the bottom.

 

“Watch out!”

 

Jim heard the shout and then saw the bus. The brakes had failed.

 

***

 

Sherlock stood in front of the painting, tears pouring down his cheeks.

 

To call this marvelous creation simply ‘beautiful’ was a travesty. It was so much more than that. It was beauty redefined at so many levels that the Englishman found it breathtaking, stunning, inspiring, terrific.

 

It was a painting of him, standing on some rocks just before the sea, the waves splashing in the backdrop while he played in joyous abandon, his locks flying in the stiff breeze. Sitting on the same rocks and looking up at him with admiration was the painter, a self-portrait, an inference on his devotion towards him. A devotion and admiration he reciprocated but never quite managed to communicate to him. If only he hadn’t waited so long, if only he hadn’t been so shy and procrastinated through the summer.

 

The accident had occurred only half a block away. The blood-stained grey newsboy cap had been lying unnoticed on the sidewalk and Sherlock had managed to pick up as he walked past. It was such a ghastly scene that the cops and paramedics had not allowed anyone to see the face of the poor victim. Not that Sherlock wanted to see his crush in that state. He didn’t think he could bear to see a face so gorgeous destroyed and deformed.

 

He took the painting after he saw that nobody seemed to be around to stop him or claim it. He picked up his violin, cradled the cap in his arms and walked away from the pier, from Montpellier, from France and from love. He never married and never played the violin again.

 

***

 

Jim searched high and low but couldn’t find the painting he had so passionately created as a gift for the man he was so desperate to speak to. But the disappointment he felt for the lost painting paled in comparison to the shock he had when he couldn’t find the man himself. There were no signs of him, his tripod stand, the shoulder bag of books and papers he carried or his violin. It seemed as if he had disappeared into the vast blue beyond or had been just a figment of Jim’s imagination.

 

“Jim,” one of the street vendors called out to him in French, “Did you pass by the accident site? Ghastly, isn’t it?”

 

Jim nodded but his mind was on other things. Like a madman he ran across the length of the pier, then the beach, then the street market across the lane, scanning the whole area for any signs of that mystery man. He asked random strangers about him, at some point even sketching a rough likeness of him and showing it around. But nobody had seen him and it didn’t help Jim’s search when he couldn’t even provide the ‘missing’ person’s name. Like a phantom that fellow had vanished, as if he had never existed at all.

 

At some point he went back home, threw himself on the bed and screamed with anguish. A startled Thomas meowed and jumped on to the ledge, beating a hasty retreat.

 

James Moriarty left the city the very next month and took up a job at his hometown of Cork in Ireland. He taught physics and mathematics at a private high school and lived like a hermit at his family home.

 

He never had any relationships and never took up a paintbrush again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the sadness. But not all love stories have happy endings.


	14. Texting Consultants - 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock, Jim, their phones, texts, sexts, chat-a-thons and much more

Hey Sherly – JM

 

Sherlyyyyyyyy – JM

 

SHERLOCK FUCKING HOLMES I AM TALKING TO YOU – JM

 

You could call – SH

 

Texting is more fun – JM

 

If you insist – SH

 

Actually I do – JM

 

What a lovely day it is – JM

 

It is raining cats and dogs – SH

 

My kind of a lovely day – JM

 

Seriously, I love rainy days – JM

 

Tell that to my muddy boots and Mrs. Hudson, who got mad over me walking up the stairs and on the carpet with those grimy soles – SH

 

Not my fault if you forgot to wipe your feet – JM

 

Are you wet – JM

 

Like, really wet – JM

 

James, I am not a woman. I don’t produce my own lubrication – SH

 

( _pause_ ) Hahahahahahaha *emoji of ROFL* Ohhhhhh-can’t-breathe- hehehehehehe!!! You are too precious Sherly. I meant wet from the rain, your clothes dodo, your clothes – JM

 

I see – SH

 

What a bore you are. No sense of humor – JM

 

Always easy to laugh at someone’s expense – SH

 

As a wise man once said, laugh at yourself or others will do the job for you. *emojis galore* Rings a bell Sherlyyyy??? – JM

 

Actually someone just rang the doorbell, let me check – SH

 

( _15 minutes later_ ) Who is it? A client? Trust me I am not the one who put them in trouble. I do ‘higher’ impact work – JM

 

Okay, it’s been half hour now. This has to be a client, right? Or is it your dearest elder brother Mycroft the cake-eating monster Holmes – JM

 

Who the hell is more important than answering my texts – JM

 

FUCK YOU BITCH – JM

 

***

 

_2 hours later_

 

Jim – SH

 

Oh, now you remember me? You left me half way through our text-a-thon – JM

 

I got arrested – SH

 

What? Why? – JM

 

Can you get me out – SH

 

First you need to tell me why you got arrested? If it’s for something silly like hurting a pensioner’s pet cat then shame on you. I won’t – JM

 

I blew up Donovan’s car – SH

 

Oh! Really? Sherly I am so proud of you. I hope she was inside – JM

 

Afraid not – SH

 

You are such a half-baked criminal. Stay put there, I shall pull out a rabbit from my hat and get your arse out of jail – JM

 

I shall owe you one – SH

 

Oh! Using my lines on me, are you? – JM

 

Fine. I owe you nothing. Now get me out of here right now or my modesty is seriously threatened. There are three blue whales in here, in the form of woman criminals, and they say they are my ‘fans’ – SH

 

It won’t take long darling. Remember, no one else screws you but me – JM

 

***

 

_3 days later_

 

Listen up everyone, Sherlock Holmes is acting like a fucking prude and an ungrateful little bitch. After I got him out of jail he didn’t even text me a thank you note. He didn’t even send me a nude selfie. I think I at least deserved something, like a shower video – JM

 

YOU ASSHOLE YOU SCARED ME. I MEANT YOUR SHOWER VIDEO, NOT YOUR BROTHER’S – JM

 

That’s Andersen – SH

 

Worse – JM

 

I am scarred for a lifetime – JM

 

Liar. You have a stronger constitution than that – SH

 

You need to make it up to me and thank me properly – JM

 

I thought you told me not to copy you. So that means I can’t say I O U. I owe you nothing so live and let live – SH

 

I usually live and let die – JM

 

***

 

_7 days later_

 

Howdy – SH

 

Hi – JM

 

Acting pricey? – SH

 

No, unwell – JM

 

Eyes hurt when I look at the phone too long - JM

 

What happened – SH

 

Sebastian had a cold and he transferred it to me. Then he went off for work to Russia and won’t be back for three more days. I am now down with the flu. My housekeeper is on vacation. My other close associate is also unwell. I have no one to even cook a decent soup for me – JM

 

( _Long pause_ ) First tell me how your lieutenant transferred the germs to you? Kissing, smooching, touching – SH

 

And here I thought he would have empathy for me, he would offer to make soup, tuck me in with blankets and a hot water bottle – JM

 

*sulky emoji* *sick emoji* *angry emoji* *crying emoji* - JM

 

Minutes pass, no response from Sherlock.

 

Sherly, what the hell – JM

 

Now I feel like a fool for having ever told you about my weak moments. You are such a cold-hearted bastard. If Mycroft is the Iceman you are the Iceberg. Oh I forgot, your sympathies and duties only lie with that pet, John Watson – JM

 

What the hell do you see in him, huh? He looks like a dentist who used his floss more than his dick – JM

 

I hate you – JM

 

*knife emoji* *gun emoji* *devil emoji* *bomb emoji* *broccoli emoji* - JM

 

The broccoli is as deadly as the knife, gun or bomb – JM

 

You know what, a half decent man would have showed up at my doorstep by now, with some soup in a flask, some hot ginger tea in another flask, some brandy in a pocket size flask, a book to read to me (preferably the life of Hitler or Capone or Napoleon) and some cuddles – JM

 

I agree – SH

 

Oh really – JM

 

Yes. Just open your apartment door and let all of us in. Me, brandy, tea, soup, book (I got Moby Dick though) – SH

 

What about cuddles - JM

 

Open the damned door. I can’t even ring the bell with my hands full – SH

 

How are you texting then – JM

 

Your bodyguard is doing that for me – SH

 

You let my employees read all of that – JM

 

He seems loyal. Anyways, open the door and you might get cuddles too – SH


	15. Texting Consultants - 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they text, they crash into love

_3 days later_

 

Your fever has broken, you’re eating solids, your cold is much better and you’re no longer sleeping eighteen hours a day. I assume this means you are now feeling much better – SH

 

Care to explain why you’re texting me from the kitchen – JM

 

Are you feeling better or not – SH

 

You wanna go away ( _deleted_ )……am I boring you ( _deleted_ )……I shall miss you ( _deleted_ )…..In a hurry to leave? – JM

 

I have cases Jim. However, I won’t leave till you are back on your feet – SH

 

Then I won’t be anytime soon ( _deleted_ )……So sweet of your Sherlylocks – JM

 

Your text definitely sounded ‘healthier’ – SH

 

Come to the bedroom soon, my tummy hurts and my head hurts. I need a massage, I need my meds, I need to do the ‘naughty’ – JM

 

Jim, I told you and I thought you agreed, no sex until you are 100% better – SH

 

Asshole, I feel like telling you the truth that I _am_ better so we can have sex and then feel like lying to you so  _you won’t leave_ ( _delete-delete-delete_ )………..So we can give each other hand-jobs, you can kiss every part of my chest, I can grope your butt when I am sick but we can’t have sex – JM

 

Your logic is flawed – JM

 

Come here quickly. I think I am dying – JM

 

Jim's phone pings.

 

Sherlock, that is not an eyeroll but a butt – JM

 

Oh, it looked like one…..never mind, will be there with the chicken legs and salad in five more minutes – SH

 

***

 

You left me – JM

 

How could you – JM

 

Jim, it’s been a week since I started living with you and taking care of you. You had flu, not AIDS. You are definitely better. No, change that, you are fighting fit. I overheard you ordering an assassination in South Korea – SH

 

I can actually kill even if I am six feet under – JM

 

You want me to live with you, then you need to ask me with proper logic, reason and impact. Like ‘Sherlock, I will do that thing with my mouth every night if you live with me’, or ‘I will stop committing crimes if you live with me’ – SH

 

If I don’t commit crimes I won’t be Jim anymore – JM

 

Point – SH

 

I suppose I can reduce, keep things looking more legit, wean myself off a little bit – JM

 

( _pause_ ) You will??? – SH

 

I mean to say I shall reconsider my current work and tone it down – JM

 

For me? – SH

 

No, for Theresa May. Of course for you, silly. By the way ‘that thing I did with my mouth’ is called fellatio or blowjob, take your pick – JM

 

Ewwwwww – SH

 

Prude, repressed, tarty – JM

 

No, I mean to say, I just remember that I put it all down your throat. Now the internet says semen tastes like egg whites mixed with seawater - SH

 

Tasted sweet when you deposited the protein on my tongue – JM

 

*Tongue out emoji* - SH

 

Sorry *embarrassed emoji* - SH

 

It was not a great idea leaving me while I was sleeping. In any case I sleep much better when you’re in bed next to me, talking about some case or an experiment or playing the violin in the next room – JM

 

( _long pause_ )

 

Sherlyyyyyy – JM

 

Too cheesy for you – JM

 

You really meant it? You sleep better when I am talking nonstop or when I play the violin in close proximity – SH

 

Yes, didn’t you notice it too – JM

 

Yes. You sleep like a baby – SH

 

Babies do not sleep very peacefully so that expression is wrong at so many levels I can’t even begin to express it – JM

 

Don’t read too much into my gestures or my words. I looked after you because Sebastian was out of country for work and also because you got me out of jail. I didn’t want to take Mycroft’s help this time – SH

 

Do you realize I kept Seb away for an additional 5 days so we could continue our cohabiting _(delete)_ You are such a killjoy – JM

 

***

 

 _Mycroft and John_ know – SH

 

You must have blabbered it out while you slept. You do talk in your sleep, you know that? – JM

 

No, it was my mistake ( _deleted_ )…….I left my phone at the Yard office and Grey handed it to Mycroft to return it to me who went through my phone after unlocking it using one of his hackers and roped in John to validate his presumption – SH

 

Grey? Or Greg? – JM

 

Damn it, that’s not important. My brother knows – SH

 

When will you stop fearing him and his judgmental arse – JM

 

He will tell mummy – SH

 

So? – JM

 

This means I should not give him the power to make the big reveal. I need to introduce you to my parents before he takes any such step. He is such a patronizing man, full of self-confidence, he must not be allowed to poke his nose where it’s not his business – SH

 

You are asking me something – JM

 

Yes, I suppose – SH

 

Be clear Sherlock. You are taking me home with you and introducing me to the folks. – JM

 

Isn’t that clear – SH

 

Yes it is – JM

 

I’ll talk to mummy and set a date – SH

 

***

 

_1 month later_

 

I lapsed and spent two weeks in rehab. Cheers, hope you’re having a great day – SH

 

If I do die soon, don’t bother coming to my funeral – SH

 

Please, please tell me you’re just being a sick, sadist bastard. Tell me you are okay, at least – SH

 

***

 

_3 weeks later_

 

This was his way of burning the heart out of me. Remind me John, anytime I get too emotional, that love is a dangerous disadvantage – SH

 

I can’t believe I am saying this and defending him, but maybe he is not in a position to reply – JW

 

Don’t try to make excuses on his behalf, won’t work – SH

 

Unless you’re trying to say I must look deeper and investigate into his disappearance – SH

 

Mycroft also got to know and soon afterwards Jim just stopped communicating with me – SH

 

Oh God John, yes this is it, this thing has ‘MYCROFT’ written all over it. He must be up to one of his dirty tricks – SH

 

Thanks so much for showing me the way and helping me with the next steps. Instead of moping over his silence and just assuming, I should have pulled out all possible stops to investigate why he changed suddenly – SH

 

( _5 minutes later_ ) You do realize Sherlock that I didn’t say, suggest or guide you on anything at all. But you’re welcome – JW


	16. Texting Consultants - 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A text log that outlines the Sheriarty relationship and how they got their happy ending

_1 month later_

 

Mummy liked you – SH

 

Daddy’s opinion doesn’t count? – JM

 

It does. But he usually approves – SH

 

Did she approve me out of sympathy for what Mycroft did – JM

 

Don’t talk about him – SH

 

Forgive him – JM

 

WHAT? WHAT? – SH

 

He thought I was a good way to get Eurus out of Sherrinford. He also thought you would get dumped by me and lapse into substance abuse. He felt he could strike a deal with me which could benefit the British government. From where he stands, he was trying to do the right thing – JM

 

Wrong – SH

 

Don’t take his side – SH

 

He will soon be my brother-in-law. Should the animosities continue – JM

 

Jim, he kept you in a secret cell for a month after inviting you to a truce dinner to give his so-called ‘blessing’ to our relationship – SH

 

Yes but he didn’t hurt me in any way. I lived in 5-star luxury. It’s his team which served me day and night who got hurt – JM

 

*various smiley emojis* - SH

 

You bet. One out of the four has been recommended therapy. One had a concussion. The third one has retired. The last one is still standing but he has hallucinations of himself as a Czar – SH

 

It was fun – JM

 

Not for me – SH

 

I know darling. Won’t happen again. I am a law-abiding man now – JM

 

Really? Yesterday you tortured a full family and took over their property – SH

 

Legal, perfectly legal, they were occupying the premises despite court orders to move. I will use the same powers I have but operate within the boundaries of the law – JM

 

So, as I was saying, mummy really likes you. She found you cute as a button and too innocent-looking to be a proper criminal mastermind – SH

 

Sherlylocks, why are you sending me ‘sick’ emojis – JM

 

I find all this family and feelings spiel quite sickening – SH

 

Me too. Let’s do something more sociopathic, like play mind games with someone and make them do what you want them to do – JM

 

Like what – SH

 

John to kiss Mycroft – JM

 

Why John? Why not Sebastian to kiss Gary – SH

 

Because he would. If I tell him he will even kiss Mrs. Hudson – JM

 

Speaking of kisses…… - SH

 

Yes? – JM

 

Stop texting and come to the bedroom. I am nude and under the sheets. I want you to kiss me, on the mouth this time. I think I am ready – SH

 

You realize you have become an expert at blowing me but this will be the first time we’d do a proper smooch – JM

 

Yes I am aware. I am a bit different than most others. But I thought that was what you like the most about me – SH

 

_1 hour later_

 

Just for the records, putting this on our chat log. You sucked my brains out through my cock and you have given me bruised lips that will hurt for a week. Sherlock Holmes, you are a monster. _Do not change_ – JM

 

_9 hours later_

 

Did I fall asleep with your dick still in my mouth – SH

 

Okay you’re still asleep. Reply when you wake up. Going for a case. Grinch has texted – SH

 

***

 

_6 days later_

 

When are you coming home – SH

 

Just finished work. Say, in another sixty odd minutes, ten more or less, give or take - JM

 

It would have been great to have you sitting here on John’s chair (now your chair), with a cup of tea being passed back and forth between us (I like your idea about sharing cutlery and crockery), or both of us applying the surveillance overdrive on Mycroft and Gruber so we’d know if they have done the naughty yet or not – SH

 

Texts are meant to be short *big smiley emoji* - JM

 

You just typed a novella, by texting standards – JM

 

Whatever – SH

 

Say it, you miss me and you love me – JM

 

Hmmm – SH

 

What? You don’t? Why aren’t you replying – JM

 

I was nodding – SH

 

And exactly how am I supposed to know you’re nodding – JM

 

Oh okay, cute GIF. So you do love me _and_ miss me? – JM

 

Why on earth did I send the GIF then? That is an audio-visual confirmation of my feelings and what I wish to say. I even made the goofy face. All wasted because now you want further proof. Listen, words are just another means to manipulate. It’s the eyes that never lie and you could see my eyes in that GIF. The best psychologists and social behavior analysts claim that a smile can be faked but the eyes tell the truth – SH

 

Now you typed a novel, even longer than the one before – JM

 

But you still haven’t said what I want to hear – JM

 

Can you really ‘hear’ texts – SH

 

*thundercloud emoji* *volcano emoji* *explosion emoji* - JM

 

Yes, I love you and I miss you. Now come back soon – SH

 

I love you and miss you too – JM

 

Cute – SH

 

I am NOT cute. I am handsome, manly, suave – JM

 

Those things too – SH

 

Please, let’s not change and become a boring, long-married couple in about five years. Partners who remember each other only when one needs a car serviced or the other needs some groceries to be brought. Let’s remain the way we are, like this, now – JM

 

Essay – SH

 

??? – JM

 

You just typed an essay, by texting standards – SH

 

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr – JM

 

Shall I wait for you naked with ice cream over me, or would you prefer the ‘banana’ and ‘grapes’ thing we did the other day – SH

 

How about strawberries – JM

 

Holy shit – SH

 

No, no, strawberries are easy to accommodate. You crush them first – JM

 

No, I mean…..mummy, daddy, your mummy and sister are here. I see them alighting from a cab downstairs – SH

 

Did you know? – JM

 

……………… - SH

 

Willie, if you knew and forgot to tell me I am going to use a pineapple instead of strawberry, I kid you not – JM

 

Um…..forgive? – SH

 

*sigh* *disappointed emoji* Fine, order take away and some good coffee and wine. Take Mrs. Hudson’s help to get John’s room and the other spare room on the third floor ready for the guests – JM

 

Okay. What about sex? – SH

 

I don’t want to think about your parents having sex. Bit creepy – JM

 

I meant you and me. We are too loud. I have to gag you, I think – SH

 

*fist emoji* - JM

 

***

 

_5 years later_

 

You home yet – SH

 

Nope, what about you – JM

 

Case still going on, big bank robbery averted but the conspirators are still at large. Might not be back home till early hours of morning. Eat at Sebastian’s if you want. William Jr and James Jr will be staying at John and Mary’s tonight, along with big sister Rosy – SH

 

Good idea with that because I shall be working late too. I am still a bit far from destroying the Egyptian economy by instigating anarchy and anti-government unrest throughout the country. Then I have a conference call with Mycroft and the Canadian ambassador – JM

 

James Jr needs a haircut – SH

 

I will get him one this weekend. Sherlock Jr’s Parent Teachers Meeting this weekend, you might need to go – JM

 

You spoil him, you go and face the arrows – SH

 

I don’t want James Jr to get that weird mohawk haircut. Why don’t you take him to the barber’s since he is your pet - JM

 

Fine, get milk on your way back – SH

 

Oh all right, take my Audi for servicing tomorrow – JM

 

_(And they lived happily ever after, if somewhat conventionally as compared to their earlier bohemian lifestyle)_

**Author's Note:**

> Link to Sheriarty September from 2017 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11966949/chapters/27062007


End file.
